L's Heirs Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5
by Ping Hsin
Summary: Matt takes matters into his own hands and tries to find the person who has been stealing things at Wammy's. Be sure to read Part 1! Review Enjoy!
1. Chapter 2 Waiting

Well—there was waiting evolved with Matt's plan, actually a lot. But to admit defeat was something even Matt found hard to do. Even though Near and Matt never really competed, there still was a certain sting that would be attached to the sentence that admitted to Near that his plan wasn't going to work out. No. He wasn't going to give in just yet.

There were multiple steps in Matt's plan most of the parts evolved some sort of patience. None of which Matt had at the moment; neither did Near as they stood in the streets of the nearby town.

Even though the residents of the town were fully aware of the oddities of children the orphanage produced, the residents at least didn't have to see such oddities roaming the streets of their quaint touristy destination of a town. Each time the orphanage went on day trips into town with the orphans themselves, the town residents would find themselves usually rubbing the temples of their heads or simply shaking their heads as if saying "We're not responsible". They found themselves doing it a lot during the second week of December when the orphanage would allow the children to visit the town and awe at their Christmas decorations. But even though the town didn't mind being complemented on their old charm flashy décor; the time the orphan came and visited the town was a week in which rich tourist who had the money to go on vacation in the winter would visit. Even though it brought in money it also brought in a lot of questions as to the orphanage that the tourist would mistake it as a lord's manor. The orphanage most certainly **not** where the head of the town lived and no, it was not haunted.

It was rearing towards noon and there was no sign of anyone in the streets of the town. Matt knew for a fact that the town residents had reported objects missing from their homes and businesses. One would presume it would bring about some talk. Though gossip wasn't always the truth it gave one insight as to what others were thinking which could lead you to suspect other factors that weren't previously prominent. This is what Matt had presumed and thought it'd be best to roam the streets and hear what people thought. Yet that part of the plan wasn't working out. Everyone was either too content or too scared to leave their homes. This meant that Matt would have to rethink what he was to do.

They couldn't stay in the town for long. Though it was always hard to know what Near was thinking Matt was sure Near that he knew that Roger would eventually find that neither of them were where they were suppose to be. And from the shifty glances Matt got, he presumed that Near was getting impatient. Even though Near would never admit it, he knew that Near's pale complexion never allowed him to be in direct and serve light or heat. And since it was mid-July Matt knew that it probably wasn't very smart for them to be here any longer.

"I guess we should start heading back…" Matt had finally admitted defeat.

No response.

He turned around to find that he was taking to nothing. Where was Near?! How could he have left with out Matt hearing? Matt couldn't leave the town without Near; he unfortunately admitted that he forgot how to get back. But he knew for sure that he had been spacing out but he knew that he would have noticed Near leaving…Maybe he should have gone to bed earlier…

After his mind stopped panicking, Matt was relieved to find that Near was only a block away from him but since he was crouching Matt hadn't noticed him. As he approached Near he saw what he was watching.

Around the market stands, there was a roughly formed and spaced crowd that encircled a certain peculiar event that were currently unfold. Neither Near or Matt could see what the people were encircling; but they knew for a fact it was something living since noises were escaped the tightly spaced crowd. The crowd of people did not seem to be willing to part but fortunately they wouldn't have to long.

Whatever creature that was caged by the blockade of people evidently realized that situation wasn't going to favor it if it did not act. So it acted. The creature broke free of the circle by tackling one of the people down. Its actions resulted in success and it did not ponder anything that would indicate victory. Instead it quickly left the scene it entered, as quickly and spontaneously as it came.

The creature, after a quick observation by both Near and Matt was in fact a human. As it ran past them, Near could make out a brackish smell that pervaded off the human. The clothes it was wearing were black or gray at one point, but now they were caked with a wide variety of dirt particles that had clung to its fibers. The joints of the human stuck out from the clothes were merely nothing more than skin barely stretching across bone. If one were to examine the human one would find that its body fat would be nonexistent. The skin and hair were virtually impossible to clearly describe, theirs true colors were hidden under the filth that had accumulated over who knows how many weeks it hadn't been scrubbed with any cleaning product. But the most prominent feature that stood out from it was the wild maniacal eyes as they pierced any presence it came into contact with.

"That thing who or whatever it was tried to steal my radio!" The man who had been knocked to the ground was evidently recovered and was now brushing off the dirt that probably wouldn't stain his clothes but brushed it off anyway. "It crouched and lurked as if it were a stone gargoyle coming to life! If it wasn't for you people helping trying to catch that thing it would have stolen it before I could have caught up with that _thing_. "

At the man's indication Matt and Near could see that radio held no amazing quality to it as it lay in the dirt. The antenna looked as if it had been snapped on countless occasions and the six month warranty did not permit for such a part to be replaced. So it had been creatively fixed through the use of gray duck tape, which would give off a certain sheen when it would sit in its usual spot under the flickering florescent lighting next to the register. Whoever tried to steal such an object had to be desperate, there was not doubt. There would be little gain in stealing such, it couldn't be pawned, more could have been gained from stealing the man's wilted produce.

As the bystanders and assistants that helped created the human cage departed, Matt pondered what had just happened. The towns' people were just as confused of the sudden appearance of this human. Whatever it was it wasn't from here and whatever he or she was in the area from, Matt had an inkling suspicion that they could be connect to the stealing. But jumping to such a conclusion without anything but a personal feeling would not make for a closed case. Now thinking about it jumping to a conclusion would not only be irrational but go against his very purpose for being at Wammy's.

No, the situation wouldn't be solved so easily. Though it disappointed Matt; it was true.

Bells chimed from the direction of the church. It was already early afternoon. The humidity was at its peak as Matt and Near headed back towards Wammy's. Perspiration formed on Matt's forehead and through the hazy atmosphere the sun's heat could be felt on his back as well. Bitterly he moped his face of sweat with his shirt. Being outside wasn't something Matt enjoyed or was a place he ever considered being. But since it was his decisions that lead him to going to the town, he didn't think it was wise to complain.

Behind him, Matt heard a thud. Turning around Matt saw that Near had gave into the discomforts of the heat and sat down.

"What are you doing?" Matt's agitation from the heat could be heard through his voice.

"Nothing."

"Well, can't you do nothing when we get back to Wammy's?" said Matt. "Roger probably has realized that we're not there!"

"Your point?"

Matt didn't respond at first because there was no real point to state the obvious. Roger had probably found that they were gone hours ago. "Well—we should get back to where we're suppose to be."

"We'll get back there either way. Why rush?"

"Because…" Matt didn't finish his sentence. Frustration got the best of him as he tried to drag Near across the ground. At first it was easy, since Near was as light as the matchsticks he stacked, but after two yards or so Matt's arms ached and he let himself crumple to the ground.

It was nice; the silence. If it wasn't for the fact they were outside Matt would have enjoyed the sereneness of it. Besides the heat and the various living creatures which inhabited the outside world the occasional silences was something that was hard to find. Maybe he could take his game console outside sometime—the thought of his game console but back Matt's frustration.

A cool sensation dripped down his back. And another. The rain was cold and relaxed the growing agitation of both Matt and Near. They simply sat there in the field, as the sky a pallid gray swept to the visible boarders of the sky. But after a few minutes, the rain came down like hard pellets, barraging the two boys.

Thinking about it, Near wondered if it was hail. From looking at the small trees; their main structure was almost to the brink of snapping. The sound of the rain with the accompaniment of the wind and clashed of thunder was almost deafening to the ear. It was impossible to make out what Matt was yelling. But he knew well enough they had to find shelter. It would be impossible to make it back to the orphanage, for one could barely see in front of themselves. The only building that lay ahead was the church whose steeple rose above the swaying branches. The lucid brightness of the leaves that clung to the branches was blurred almost like the smudging of pastels. How ironic, though Near, that a church would be their salvation…


	2. Chapter 3 Glass Beads

One could say there was an incongruent atmosphere that filled the one would presume empty church. As Matt and Near silently entered the structure they sensed of something out of place.

"Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray to us sinners now and at the hour of our death; amen."

Drawing his breathe in, Matt crouched low as he leaned against the back the wooden bench which was closest to the door they had just entered from.

"Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray to us sinners now and at the hour of our death; amen."

The sounds coruscated as they reached the beams of the vaulted ceiling. The chanting sent an eerie message to both boys.

"Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray to us sinners now and at the hour of our death; amen."

They weren't alone.

"Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray to us sinners now and at the hour of our death; amen."

The voice wasn't low, but sounded dry and strained as it repeated the same pray in a repetitive drawn out rhythm.

"Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray to us sinners now and at the hour of our death; amen."

"We shouldn't stay here." Matt whispered fiercely into Near's ear. "That's it I'm going."

As Matt started for the door Near franticly grabbed at his shirt knowing that Matt would be seen by whoever else they were in company with in the church. The action sent Matt falling onto his back with a loud reverberating sound that traveled its length through the loose floor boards.

At this the chanting stopped. Both Near and Matt held their breathe. But after a moment or so of strained silence the voice continued to chant the same stream of prayers. As the words reached his ears, Matt could hear weariness in the voice. It trembled slightly but it regained its pace with an apparent weakness as it tried to repel its company by chanting louder.

"Hail Mary, Mother of God, pray to us sinners now and at the hour of our death; amen."

"I'm going to look in and see whose there."

"Why?" Asked Near, who was now looking at Matt; still wondering if Matt's encounter with their desk had done any sort of damage to his mind.

"Why not? We can't just stay here not knowing who or what is also in this church. Maybe it's someone who can give us a ride back to Wammy's."

"No don't—."

"Hello!? Is someone there?"

The voice immediately hushed at Matt's question. Both boys heard a quick scuttle. After what seemed to be the longest of minutes, Matt and Near peaked their heads around the bench and looked down the long aisle of benches to see nothing of the being who had previously been chanting hail Mary's.

At first Matt's joints were stiff from sitting in a crouched position against the bench but they loosened as he walked towards the lectern where the voice had been present. He heard Near unwillingly follow him, but as they reached the other side of the church they both saw that whatever or whoever had been in the building with them was now out of sight.

_Crunch._

Looking down Matt saw that he had stepped on something long and thin but the shadows prevented him from making out its true form. Picking it up he saw that he had broken one of the glass beads that made up the long necklace. The beads were various sizes no two seemed to be alike; but on the very bottom of the necklace dangled a small wooden cross. As the round beads were pressed against his palm Matt noticed that even before he had picked the necklace up still held the warmth from the hands it was last in. Not only was it warm but the moisture from the presumed sweat that was coated it, the moisture gave off a certain smell. It was a peculiar sent Matt knew he had only just recently smelled. _What was it…?_ Before Matt could draw a conclusion, a loud animal like shout came from behind the lectern.

A figure darken by the shadows stood on top of the slanted alter looking triumphantly down at both Near and Matt—it had caught it's enemies.

The old wood creaked as the figure jumped from its position. Matt instinctively got to the ground, wrapping his arms around his head. _Where was that…thing?_ Matt's question was quickly answered the loud _thud_ that had been made by the figure landing on top of Near. Through the jumble of limbs and fists it was impossible to see which belonged to who as Near and the figure were interlocked into a ineluctable unavoidable struggle.

From the few moments of watching this spectacle; Matt quickly realized that the figure had pinned down Near. Even though Matt and Near were only really acquainted through their success of being the two top people competing to be L's heirs; Matt felt as though (well actually he had to admit it true) he had dragged Near into a situation he probably didn't desire to be in. Whatever happened to Near was Matt's fault.

Physical strength wasn't one of Matt's greatest attributes or anything of his concern, but now he really wished that life were more like a game. If so, he could pause the game and if things weren't according to plan he could get a cheat code if necessary. But Matt knew that it wasn't the case, at least for this situation. What could he use as a weapon? He knew that if he tried to use his bare fists he would break his fingers and cause more damage to himself than the enemy.

A quick scan of his surroundings came upon an old leather bound bible lying on the ground next to the lectern. Its home had previously been upon the wooden alter like stand, but its prior location wasn't of current concern to Matt. Grasping it within his hands, he raised his arms above his head adding plenty of momentum and speed to the book as it hit the back to of the figures head. The figure had stopped its confrontation with Near and turned to look at its next enemy.

Now faced in a struggle, Matt froze. Maniacal eyes stared him down. Those eyes were like that of back coals…The figure sent Matt sprawling onto his back. The intensity of hatred was what made those eyes so frightening. _Like the eyes of a demon_, the thought passed through his mind again as he felt any existent confidence he had once had disappear.

Near had taken the advantage of Matt's offensive move and decided to come back with a counterattack against the figure as it started to fight Matt. With steady hands Near grasped the left shoulder and right side of the neck of the figure, pulling it from Matt and into its back.

Seeing the opportunity Matt got a hold of the bible once more and whacked the figure in the head—hard. As quickly as the blow landed upon the head of its enemy, the figure lay limp and unconscious.

The afternoon rain had stopped and the amber shades of the evening sunset were like lucid hazel streams of light through the arched windows of the church. Through silent inhales of breathe both Matt and Near regained their energy.

"Its still alive."

Opening his eyes Matt saw Near's fingers pressed against the figure's neck. Looking at Near, Matt saw that the figure had punched Near in the nose, not enough to break it but enough of a blow for his nose to bleed. Getting up from the floor Matt traced his fingers over the four deep gouges that the finger nails of the figure had made in the side of his right cheek.

"It's not an it." Matt said as he examined the figure. "Its—its"

"The same person we saw stealing the radio today in the town. I know." Inferred Near.

"What should we…" Matt didn't finish his sentence for both he and Near had come to the same conclusion.


	3. Chapter 4 An Almost Perfect Day

Roger leaned back in the revolving tightly upholstered leather office chair that was quite content with its location which was Roger's private study. The walls were partly covered with dark wood paneling; the other half was painted a rich earthen green. Built in book cases lined the eastern wall of the room. Its contents were there solely for decorative appeal or for the collection of dust. A marble fire place whose mantle was held up by two figures which looked like Greek statues carved into the sides held nothing up but an oil painting which Roger had never got the time to hang up.

The rich spices from the kitchen reached Roger's nose. _Hopefully they won't put too much back pepper in the pea and ham soup tonight. _His mouth watered at the thought but he did not rise from his chair. No. He was just as content as the chair was; he simply found his location to be an utterly blissful one. For some odd reason or another Roger could finally say he had a stress free day at Wammy's. Thinking about it, even the sentence: "A relaxing stress free day at Wammy's"—Roger didn't know such a phrase could be uttered and actually be truthful. But it was true, he, Roger felt this very sense of calm. One of the first ever since this orphanage was founded. The thought of Wammy's made him stiffen. It wasn't the place it was the intolerable amount of children, germs and, well, children that made Roger malcontent. Even if these children were from a very selective demographic of highly intelligent beings in comparison to the average intellect of children this young, they were still children and these orphans being children still had that primitive habit of being completely oblivious to their utterly repulsive grossness it was completely unbearable to Roger. He was disgusted by the thought of soiled dirty hands that went from mouth to floor to toilet and to mouth again all in a one hour period. Actually he was slightly appalled with himself; why did he take up such a job? It probably wouldn't have been so if Wammy had never asked him; Roger wondered…where would he be now?

A knock could be heard from the other side of the pocket door of his study.

"Yes come in."

The founder of the orphanage entered Roger's study. He still hadn't taken off his coat from when he came back with L from one of his cases. Wammy probably was bombarded by the children…that were probably why Roger had such a stress free day, since the children saw no need in bothering him and instead took interest in the two arrivals.

"Come on relax at least a little, you're making me feel uncomfortable just standing."

Wammy took Roger's offer and let himself sink into one of the chairs facing Roger's desk. After a minute or so of silence, Wammy sighed slightly as he sunk lower into the chair.

"That bad Quillish? Well it's over now, no point in putting thought into the past."

"It's just the hours." Wammy replied trying to be light hearted but truly he seemed quite fatigued.

"Well why don't you go straight to sleep?"

"I don't know I guess—."

Roger and Wammy both stopped talking as a faint knocking raped at the door.

"Come in."

A small girl of maybe three or four rushed into the room without closing the door behind her.

"Roger, Roger! You have to come you have to come!"

"What's wrong Linda?" Roger got up from his chair, the girl was a at the point of tears. Looking down at her Roger tried to calm the girl as she franticly tugged at his pant leg.

"It's—it's M—Matt a—and Near. T—they"

"What did they do to you?" Roger lifted her into the chair opposite of Wammy's.

"T—they d—didn't hurt me i—If that's what you think." The girl, Linda hiccupped small sobs.

_So much for a quiet day…_Thought Roger.

"Well just go tell them to stop doing whatever they were um…doing."

"Bu—but. Oh! Roger you have to come! Y—you have t—to come!! Someone's dead!"

"What?!" At this Roger stared at Linda, even Wammy who was drifting to sleep from fatigue perked at her last words.

"What happened, whose dead?" Wammy calmly questioned the frenzied girl.

"I—I mean w—when they came back to the orphanage t—they brought a dead person too!"

"Wait. 'Came back to the orphanage.' Where were they?"

At Roger's question Linda shrank back, suddenly realizing she said something she shouldn't have.

"I—I saw M—Matt in the morning, h—he said was going to do something, I s—saw N—Near went with him but he told me not to tell anyone he was g—gone…" Linda then finished her statement ending in a low mumble. "W—what's going to happen they k—killed someone a—aren't they going to go to prison?"

"Where are they?"

"Oh…well when I saw them, they w—were in the entrance hall…"

Walking out of his study Roger could hear his shoes as they loudly made contact with the floor. The sound of his fuming rage had to be apparent for a door opened as he passed by.

"What's wrong Roger?"

Turning around, Roger faced the detective himself who stared at him with wide sleep deprived eyes.

"Nothing, you know usual mishap." Roger knew that it was pointless to lie, L could see right through it.

"There is a 7.4 percent chance that whatever you are to do may be of interest to me or if not, I can simply return to my room and all will be of the past."

There was no point in denying L come with him to solve whatever disaster Matt and Near had created. After all they were his heirs and they'd probably listen to L than him. Taking swift strident steps, Roger and L walked to the other side of the building in a matter if seconds. A small group of children had clustered around Near, Matt and whoever everyone suspected to be dead.

At the sound of their entrance some of the children scattered to the far corners of the entry afraid of being pulled into the situation.

Though he had always known children magnetically attracted dirt at an imponderable scale, Roger was shocked to see the state of the boys. Near, Matt and the presumably dead victim were not simply caked but drenched in what was a combination of mud, dirt and…well mud. The dried mud covered the bruises, cuts and scratches that were beneath. Near's usually white hair was now a medium brown plastered to the sides of his head and Matt's stood out on one side at a gravity defying angle. The person they had brought with them lay limp on the floor, but due to the excessive amount of mud Roger could not make out any particular detail except for the person's frail size. But now looking the person's small chest it rose and fell, whoever they were, they weren't dead. At the sight Roger couldn't find anything to do other than take off his glasses and rub his eyes; for he could feel a headache coming on.

Before he could mutter anything to say Wammy had come up behind him, and put a firm grip on his shoulder. Clearing his throat Wammy took his time to speak.

"What may we have here?" His voice was deliberately calm, trying to pervade that mood to everyone in his presence.

At this there was stillness in the room. Matt could feel every pair of eyes on him. Out of the corner of his eyes he glanced at Near who was on the floor curling the ends of his hair. Catching Matt's look Near returned it with a look that simply stated: "It was your idea and plan, so it is your responsibility to follow through and muster up some reason that will persuade everyone here". _Thanks Near, _Matt thought bitterly….then again he knew it was only right. Looking up Matt stared at Wammy.

"Welcome home, Mr. Wammy; L." He grinned as he said it Matt couldn't help it. Reaching into his pocket, Matt pulled out a crumpled wad of mud caked strips of paper.

"May I present to you exhibit A: the bank strips and exhibit B: a new heir."


	4. Chapter 5 Mello

Roger had just about given in

Roger had just about given in. This whole situation had, quite some time ago, wore out his already minuscule capacity for waiting for something that didn't necessarily suit him—also known as his patience. If it wasn't for Wammy accompanying him and the other man's determination to see things through; Roger probably would not have waited in this small narrow hallway which pervaded a peculiar smell of long spent cabbage.

It was only yesterday; Roger thought longingly, that he was in the comfort of his **clean** office enjoying the last moments of his non-hectic day. _Oh! To think of such! _Roger thought. Yet that had altogether shattered when Matt and Near returned from God knows where with a unconscious bag of bones child, who could have been in one of those commercials telling you to support a starved child in some distant third world country.

The child they brought in actually turned out to be the thief who was behind all the stolen items; the most important of which the bank strips (which had been on the child the entire time). When the child had regained consciousness some hours later, it was impossible to get anything out of the boy. At first, the boy wasn't sure who he was in the presence of, but he shortly after awaking realized that he was in the presence of the people he had previously stolen countless rare priceless things from. When such a realization came across his mind he struggled to leave, Roger remembered that even that turned out to be a struggle, as the boy determinately tried to get away from his company. Luckily, well it could be called lucky in a sadistic short of way, the boy stopped struggling as he went into a fit of coughing that sickeningly brought tremor to his small figure. The interval of coughing fluctuated for a minute or so and after the only sound that pervaded throughout the room was the rasping sound of the child trying to regain breathe as he huddled meekly under the thick covers of the bed. L, who was sitting in a wooden dovetailed chair, turned his false attention away from the creaked groans the seat made and to the boy. L and many others asked the question of whom the boy was, why he had done it in a various array of different phrasing, but none came close it getting an answer—logical at that. The boy only answered in a slurred whisper: _"469 Plank Terrance Apartment 7 London…" _

And so here they were, 469 Plank Terrance Apartment Grove which was in a (one could say) not so economically blooming area of London. It had been an hour since they arrived in front of the presumed apartment 7, and from Roger's quick but periodic sideways glances at Wammy, he could see that his friend was just about to give in. All of Roger's bundled excitement to leave turned out to be premature at the arrival of a young woman.

Even in the flickering florescent lighting, the refined features of the woman's face were apparent. Her cheek bones were high on her face and her slim nose created a smooth flowing side profile as she turned towards the door of apartment 7. Her long fingers shook as they ineffectively fidgeted with the keys on their ring. She quickly knew that she couldn't avoid these men who stood out in front of her apartment. Her pale lashes flashed as her eyes turned to one man then the other as they wondered; calculated who they were and why they were there.

"We've paid back everyone we owe." She said in accented English. "We are legal citizens now, just like the rest." As she said such, the woman turned her back on the men and fatally attempted to jam the key into the lock.

"We aren't here for any of the reasons you currently presumed," said Wammy as he adjusted the collar of his coat. "This is no place to converse any matters. If I may be rude forgive me for asking if we may come in before we continue any conversation."

His politeness seemed to make a weary quizzical gaze appear upon her face. She didn't motion any sort of invitation inside as she unlocked and opened the door; but when she realized they weren't going to leave she let them in.

The acerbic smell wasn't any better in the apartment, if anything it was stronger. A wonderful combination of human waste, sweat, and mold encased the air in a sort of haze. The apartment itself was small the entrance immediately opened up to a small sitting room and dining room and (from what Wammy and Roger saw) a bedroom where rice cracker thin cots were rolled out at night and folded away during the day. Adjacent to the sitting room was a small lament countertop kitchen with the minimal amount of required appliances to actually have a functioning kitchen. A door was on the other side of the apartment and from presumption it could be said that it was a bathroom. A pallid and dirtied white was poorly slapped on the wall and near corners flaked off revealed the dingy layers that it was painted on top of. The furniture was both tactfully or tastily matched and together with their other all bare straight lines weighed down the apartment with a sort of mental glum. The only art that covered the wall was a large dark polished wood cross that ominously hung setting another oppressing feeling upon the guests.

"Sit, sit." The young woman ushered the two men over to the small rounded dining table and then quickly retreated to the kitchen.

"May we know what your name is?" asked Wammy.

The woman looked quizzically at them. One would think that if they were to go into someone's house the guests would be obligated with the common courtesy of knowing their hostess' name. After a moment or so she realized that Wammy was actually serious; at this she mentally smiled. "Elizaveta Kheel. And may I not be as intrusive as to know who you are?"

"I'm Quillish Wammy and this is my friend who is addressed as Roger."

After such introductions the young woman Elizaveta continued her business in the kitchen. Minutes later she returned to the men setting down a serving tray upon the table. Taking the mugs and teapot off of the tray she began pouring a mixture of weak tea into each cup.

Wammy didn't wait until she was done filling the cups. "The reason we are here mam is because well…" The man couldn't finish the sentence. In truth he didn't know how to explain why and who he was there for. Instead he pulled a glass beaded rosary from his coat pocket and placed it upon the table. At this the woman dropped the teapot which clattered loudly upon the table. Her blue eyes lay fixated upon the rosary in a mixture of shock and surprise. She quickly scooped it up into her palm and stared at it. Thin strands of her pale blonde hair fell in front of her face covering her reaction. Elizaveta turned and faced the men with a stricken tear stained face. She watched her fingers as they rolled the cool beads upon the string.

"Mihael…" She turned to face them again. "Where did you—."

Elizaveta was interrupted by the entrance of a man. He appeared to be in his early twenties but the way he held his face's features made him looked older. His shoulders were broad and though he was fully clothed, it was obvious that he had a muscular build. When he realized the presence of the two men his dark eyes stared down the young woman who was wiping her crying eyes.

"What—?" The man began.

"Oh Senya!" Elizaveta interjected, "T—they know of Mihael, they know where he is!" Her voice stuttered barely able to pronounce the English syllables properly. The man Senya simply brushed Elizaveta aside and sat down in a seat across from Wammy and Roger.

"So what my sister says is true?" asked Senya.

"Mihael? That's his name?" Wammy said which sounded like a statement than a question.

Elizaveta turned to Wammy. "W—what…w—what happened where is he?"

Senya spoke sharply to his sister. Even though Wammy nor Roger couldn't speak Russian, they could understand the harshness that the man venomously hissed. At this Elizaveta quieted down and began to wipe up the spilled tea with a dirty rag and then sat down on the edge of her seat. The man sat down as well and looked keenly at the other two facing across him. "So why have you come here?"

"Well…" Roger started but didn't seem to have the ability to finish, for he felt nervously and awkwardly tense in the presence of the man.

"Mihael…has…well for some circumstances or another shown up at our house." When Senya eyes the two men oddly Wammy explained. "We run an orphanage up in Winchester, forgive us for not saying that earlier."

Silence.

Wammy took a sip of the now luke-warm liquid which barely passed as tea. But looking around at the Keehls' apartment he could tell their financial situation wasn't well and didn't gag at the prudent bitterness the crude tea leaves flavored the water.

Quickly he continued. "He would refuse to tell us his name and simply uttered the address of this apartment and so here we are."

Silence.

Elizaveta peered into the dining and listened into the conversation, intently taking in every word that was said. When the conversation between the men was at the brittle stand still she spoke. "Is—is he alright?" While she said such, the young woman walked over out of the kitchen, through the dining room into, the sitting room and stood under the cross with wide fixated eyes.

"He is extremely malnourished, weak and has a high fever but alive." Wammy said in a formative tone.

She ran to Senya and kneeled on the floor by his side. "Senya! We can take him back! Can we? ….We have to! When we left mother and father it was our duty to take care of him! And…and…" She looked up at her brother. "I know I—."

At this the man slapped her hard across the face and looked down at her with dark maniacal eyes. "He is learning to be a man."

"He is so young!"

He slapped her again.

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't sinned." Senya said coolly.

"I—it wasn't my fault!" she cried.

"You soiled the virginity that was to be handed over to Jesus until you were married off."

"I was raped!"

"You now hold nothing. Now that your virginity is traded over to sin no man will ever take you." The man didn't even look at his sister as he spoke.

"N—no! Jesus will still love me!" Elizaveta, unable to chocked back tears, let them fall freely down her cheeks which were still her from where Senya had hit her.

"He has turned his back on you. You can never repent."

"That's not true! Y—you vindictive effing spawn of a demon!"

He turned now looked at her with eyes that were lit like flames. Wammy and Roger could here the clock chime. 11 o'clock.

"Since you can not get married I have to work two jobs to keep us from slipping onto the blacklist of immigrants. If only you hadn't sinned you could have been married to a man and out of my life."

"And what would of happened to Mihael?" asked Elizaveta.

"Well, it seems that our brother's future is in the hands of these men." Senya turned back to Roger and Wammy. "Is that a deal?"

"If you allow it; yes." Wammy said.

Silence.

The whole room was suspended in nothing. Only the clock that hung in the corner supplied the ear with a rhythmic noise. The encasement of hanging stillness was broken by Elizaveta who now stood up and was taking short static breathes.

Wammy had at first thought that the boy Mihael and his brother Senya were more in common but as he looked at Elizaveta he thought otherwise. Her pale eyes were glazed over with hatred. The pupils, dilated, contained no bottom but simply held the mystic heat of human sin. The similarity was stunning.

She walked over to the table which stood under the cross and picked up a small splintered wooden box.

"Here," Elizaveta said solemnly as the men got up from their seats and departed towards the door. "May he live on."

Matt ran eagerly to the front door. _It arrived! It arrived!_ The moment he had waited for for countless anxious weeks. He didn't bother to go to the kitchen or back to his room where scissors could be attained. No. It couldn't wait. His finger nails cut through the clear packaging tape after a few failed attempts. Once the first barrier was breached the newspaper and bubble wrap didn't hold up and Matt ripped past it finally reaching his goal. There it was. His game console. Joy—sheer and utter joy. Streams of morning sunlight danced through the window panes. The light shined off of the new untouched plastic case. _It's beautiful…_

Roger who was walking through the entrance hall caught site of the mess of bubble wrap and crumpled paper which was strum about the floor. _May I even bother…_He was going to ignore it but realized he could use this to his advantage.

"You don't have to pick this up," said Roger in the most persuasive tone he could put forward. "If you…"

"If I what?" Matt was still entranced by the console's streamline curve.

"If you give this box to the thief of a creature you brought back."

"What's his name?" asked Matt, who asked not because he was interested but because he didn't want to be caught in anymore awkward situations.

"Mello." Roger impatiently held the box out. "Well? Are you going?"

"Oh? What?"

"The box, give Mello the box." Said Roger who couldn't keep his annoyance from his voice.

"Oh right sure." Matt was still staring at the console as he took the box to the second floor wing where the new comer was staying.

The heavy drapery blocked most of the light from entering the room. The bedroom itself was stuffy and formally decorated with dark fabrics and stiff ornate furniture. Together, all the elements created a formal and uninviting welcome. Matt's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and saw that the boy was laying beneath embroidered blankets that fell off the sides of the heavy oak bed.

Matt had never seen the boy before, due to the fact the boy hadn't left the room since he can to Wammy's house the prior week. From rumor he was able to discover that the boy, Mello, had come down with a debilitating fever which almost lead to hospitalization. _"The new kid almost had organ failure." _he had heard one evening during dinner. Matt didn't think it was true; but now face to face with Mello he was surprised that he wasn't dead.

The boy's body was even more skeletal than before, for his eyes were sunken deeply into the large sockets. Skin (whose pigmentation wasn't so far from that of a corpse) hung loosely from the bones which jutted out along with the many tendons and veins. The thin strands of hair looked as if they weren't even attached to the scalp itself as they limply and pathetically covered the head. Mello eyes caught a hold of Matt who walked towards the bed.

When Matt reached the bed's side the two boys examined the other in an awkward silence—each boy knew that it wasn't all to long ago that they were in that church hitting each other with bare fists and biblical books (which probably was sacrilegious to the Christen religion). He didn't know what to say and so he simply preformed Roger's task and quickly shoved the box from his sweaty palms and onto Mello's lap.

The other boy gave Matt a look which plainly asked "What is this?".

"Roger was too busy to give it to you, don't ask me who it's really from though."

Mello didn't need to ask; for he as he weakly opened the lip of the box and peered at its contents he knew whose it was. Quickly Mello jerked away and faced the wall in a curled up ball, sending the box and its contents to sprawl onto the floor with a ringing clattered.

The morning light sent brilliant shadows upon the two objects. A long beaded necklace quite similar to the one Matt had stepped on in the church captured the light; making the glass beads appear to be diamonds. The other was a small heart shaped locket or pocket watch of some sort. The front metal casing was intricately carved with creeping vines the intertwined making it a beautiful example of the real plants.

Hoarse sobs came from the huddled figure in the bed, racked his body making him shake furiously. Matt wanted to hit Mello, to scream at him—anything so he wouldn't have to hear this boy's hysterical weeping. But he decided against it and with a blind confused daze ran from the room and slammed the door loudly behind him.

"What the hell is wrong with that—that thing." Matt said out loud as he tried to compose himself as heard other people down the hall. _It doesn't matter its all over—I have my game console and that's all that matters. _But as he thought such, the satisfaction couldn't out weigh the anger and confusion that came with going over what just happened moments ago.

As he walked down the hall and got farther away from the room he remerged from the stillness which had previously grasped upon him. Even though everything had turned out as planned why did it bring no satisfaction? It had begun and ended with intended certainty that all the problems would be resolved and as Matt thought about it they had. But if he were listen carefully, filtering out the noise that came with life, just for a second stepped out of the time stream flowing with vivid lucid colors, he would hear the boy's crying that continued well into late morning.

Author's Note: (Well I don't consider myself an author or writer but beside the point)

Thank you all very much to anyone and everyone who read my story and am thrilled if you read it from part one and to the end. Thank you! I hope to write more stories and continue on to this story. Hope you read future pieces.


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